


Dragonsong

by Whitlinger



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Multi, Politics, Worldbuilding, Xing-centric, a LOT of xingese ocs, it's a big story y'all, only read this if you love ling, possible addition of more canon characters, possible romantic greed/ling, rated for language and violence just in case, technically fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitlinger/pseuds/Whitlinger
Summary: Three years after Ling is crowned the new Emperor of Xing, he is betrayed by those closest to him and rival clans seize control of the capital. Ling narrowly escapes death, but unexpectedly faces the return of a memory-less Greed. United as one again, Greed and Ling must navigate the treacherous political waters of Xing to reclaim Ling's throne, dismantle the oppressive clan system, and save the country from a path of destruction.
Relationships: Greed & Ling Yao, Lan Fan & Ling Yao, Mei Chan | May Chang/Alphonse Elric
Comments: 20
Kudos: 43





	1. Waning Light

**Author's Note:**

> this story is the product of my frustration with the existing shortage of Ling-centric, Xing-centric fics because Xing is one big ass country that deserves so much more worldbuilding and clarification than was given in canon. i'm also a huge fan of chinese wuxia dramas, particularly Nirvana in Fire, which i draw inspiration from to characterize the world of Xing.
> 
> also, i might have overcommitted....so the update schedule (if any) is tentative.
> 
> please enjoy!

_1917, summer_

Ling was dying.

He could feel the snake of the poison slither through his veins, curdling his blood and feeding on his chi. His chest burned like it was on fire and he could barely move his ice-cold limbs. It took everything in him to focus on what Fu had taught him years ago: redirecting the flow of the body’s energy to protect the heart and slow the effects of the poison. Ling hadn’t thought he would ever need the technique - if Lan Fan couldn’t protect him, he could protect himself. Like every Yao heir before him, since the day Ling could walk he had honed his reflexes to be capable of dodging the fastest kunais, poisoned or otherwise.

This time, though, the attack on his life had come from within. Of course, the Emperor’s guard were not fools - poison was a favored weapon for high-profile assassinations, and every morsel of food and drink that Ling consumed was first tried by a servant. But the traitor Wu Fei must have slipped the deadly substance into his cup after the initial tasting. In spite of his dire circumstances, Ling felt a pang of irritation at the thought of losing his eighteen years to a sip of his favorite tea. The damned coward should have at least permitted him the dignity of a good fight.

Vaguely, he became aware that his body was floating. Was this the end? No, he felt a coolness against his back that seemed to be moving - a current. So they had dumped him in a river. Through his blurring vision, Ling could make out a scatter of stars in the moonless sky above him. Judging by the constellations, he was drifting headfirst downstream.

He needed to make it to land before he struck a rock that would actually kill him. How he would attempt the feat was another matter entirely; it was a miracle that his heart still beat at all. But Ling had survived worse than this. If he could escape from the interdimensional belly of a homunculus, if he could accept into his body a creature born of a thousand cursed souls, then he could handle a textbook poisoning. For the Emperor of Xing to perish like this would inflict disgrace upon the entire Yao clan.

With painful effort, Ling managed to turn his head and assess the distance to shore. Thankfully, the current wasn’t strong and his captors had deposited him close to the river bank. A row of weeping willows bordered the water; if he grabbed onto one of the lower hanging branches, he could at least stop drifting. Ling braced himself for the task, watching for the pattern of stars to be broken by a stark shadow. When the opportunity arrived, he lifted one arm and hooked it over the branch. His muscles screamed with pain at the action, but he’d succeeded in staying in place. Now came the hard part: summoning the superhuman willpower to climb ashore.

Ling had been superhuman once. Even now, it was difficult to shake off the months he’d spent wandering Amestris with Greed piloting his body. After they had reached a tentative truce, the homunculus had granted Ling access to his senses, even though Greed had still been the one in control. So Ling had experienced what it was like to live without needing to eat, sleep, or even breathe. Initially, it had been mentally exhausting - the abrupt and drastic change in routine, not to mention the screaming souls, had sent his confused consciousness into haywire, and he’d had to convince Greed to go through the motions of sleep just so he could blackout for a couple hours. 

After Ling had grown accustomed to a homunculus’s way of life, however, the experience had transformed from terrifying to thrilling. Taking down an entire army during the Promised Day with only his bare hands, he had finally understood Greed’s desire to conquer the world. It had seemed truly possible, that day.

Greed’s death had left Ling with an agonizing emptiness. It’d felt as though a part of his soul had been torn away, and the phantom pain had haunted him in his nightmares for weeks. In the days after, the need to eat and sleep and breathe again had felt like chores. But what had stayed with Ling was an increased tolerance for pain, the accumulated product of repeatedly healing from wounds that would instantly kill a regular human. 

It probably explained why Ling was able to grit his teeth and drag himself with his elbows onto the grassy slope of the river bank without passing out. He slumped against the muddy incline, steadying his breath, then promptly keeled over and vomited blood. He could feel the last of his chi fading and the poison rapidly approach his heart. There was only one thing that could save him now. 

Ling imagined Edward Elric yelling at him. _How could you be so careless? You know the price you have to pay._ And imaginary Ed was right. The poison in his tea had been a dirty trick, but Ling had also been too trusting in a place where trust was a leading cause of death. Wu Fei’s family had been tied to Ling’s for generations; the man himself had been more of a father to Ling than the late emperor. What had made Fei turn against him? Or had Fei always kept a knife behind his back? The grief of betrayal welled up inside Ling, and his eyes stung with tears.

The answers would have to come later. His captors had removed his _jifu_ , but not his undershirt. Ling used his teeth to tear a hole into the underside of his left sleeve, and a small vial fell out of the secret pocket. In the blackness of night, the swirling red liquid it contained glowed like embers.

“I’m sorry, Ed,” Ling muttered, “but my people need me.” He removed the stopper and, hesitating only briefly, poured the philosopher’s stone down his throat.

Ling had braced himself for the stone’s takeover, but he screamed anyway. As the elixir decomposed and recomposed every cell of his being, he writhed in an agony beyond the poison, beyond any injury he had suffered with Greed, beyond his insatiable desire to survive. The pain was so intense that he was sure his body would disintegrate from the pressure.

And then, it stopped.

In an instant, all of Ling’s senses snapped into clarity. The steady current of his chi had returned, and he knew that any trace of the poison was gone. He could see clearly the starlit, swirling tides of the river and the shadowy expanse of the woods on the opposite shore. His ears, which had felt like they’d been stuffed with cotton, now picked up the sounds of rushing water and screeching cicadas. Beneath him, Ling felt the immense and powerful flow of the Dragon’s Pulse, recollecting and restoring energy to all life on the planet.

If he turned his attention inward, just beneath the layer of his consciousness, he could hear voices: whispers and moans and wails that blended together into a torrent of anguish. It was not a place he liked to dwell in. _I promise to use you well,_ he thought. _You have the Emperor’s eternal gratitude._

But Ling found he could not return to the surface. Instead, he continued to sink deeper into himself, helpless against the force that was dragging him under. It was not, he realized, an unfamiliar feeling.

The enormous, fanged, red face of Greed materialized before Ling.

_Now, who the hell are you?_


	2. Son of Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back! this chapter took a really long time to write because i just crammed in so much, lol. it's definitely going to be one of the longer updates, if not the longest, of this story.
> 
> in this chapter we go back to right after the Promised Day and figure out exactly how Ling became Emperor, since it always bothered me that this plotline was just brushed over in canon. i introduce a lot of ocs and it might get expo heavy in some places, but everything will play a role.
> 
> i also want to give a huge shoutout to my beta reader Jess for bearing with me through all my overthinking and making this sound coherent!
> 
> please enjoy :^)

_Three years earlier_

“My lord, are you awake?”

It was Lan Fan’s voice. Ling opened his eyes and saw his bodyguard and childhood friend sitting a few feet away, bathed in moonlight pouring into the rock fissure where they’d made camp. On his other side, Mei slept soundly, her small body curled into a fetal position. “Yes,” he responded.

“Please come sit with me.”

Ling removed his thick desert blanket and joined Lan Fan at the mouth of the cave. She was gazing at the moon, which hung full and high over the sea of sand.

“Can’t sleep?” he said.

Lan Fan shook her head. “Bandits like to roam these lands. We are hidden well here, but I can’t be too careful. Especially not with what you’re carrying.”

“We’ll be fine,” Ling assured her. “You should save your energy. I can keep watch while you rest.”

She turned to glance at him, her brows creased with concern. “Have you slept at all, my lord? Since we left Amestris?”

Ling smiled wryly. “It seems my body has forgotten how to.”

“I see.” Lan Fan let out a tired sigh. With her hair down and maskless, she looked the young girl that she was, only a year older than his fifteen. “I...wanted to apologize to you,” she said. “For not making it to Bradley in time.”

Ling stared at her, hit with the dreadful realization that Lan Fan blamed herself for her grandfather’s death. Since their fight with Wrath, she had not mentioned Fu once.

“Lan Fan,” he began, “your grandfather chose to sacrifice himself. His actions saved the country, and saved _me_.”

“I should have been by his side,” she insisted. “He never told you, but he missed my mother, and Xing, so much. He deserved to return home with us, not die for someone else’s government in someone else’s land.” Lan Fan turned away, and when she spoke again, he heard the tears in her voice. “I’m sorry, my lord. That was out of turn.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Ling said, his own heart wrenched with grief. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save him.”

Lan Fan’s shoulders shook. He reached out and touched her flesh arm lightly, and when she turned back to him he wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she cried. It was only the second time she had shed tears in front of him.

“I will become the greatest ruler Xing has known,” he promised. “Fu’s sacrifice won’t be in vain. And nor will yours.”

“I know you will be,” Lan Fan said into his shoulder. She pulled away and scanned his face, saw the terrible pain it contained. And because he could never hide anything from her, she understood.

“It’s not just the absence of the stone that is keeping you awake, is it?” she asked gently. “I didn’t realize his passing would affect you so much.”

Ling hadn’t foreseen how much Greed’s death would affect him, either. Maybe it was because all of the homunculi in Amestris had towered above human fragility, taking mortal injuries like mere slaps and laughing in the face of death. Ling remembered the raw power Greed had exuded while controlling his body, a power that had made Ling certain he would not rule Xing alone.

Yet, he had ended up alone. Where Greed’s overwhelming presence had been was now an aching void inside of Ling that he could not fill. He wondered if this was how Greed had felt, scouring the world in search of anything that would occupy the hole where his heart should’ve been, if only temporarily. Sleeping meant acknowledging the unbearable silence that had taken Greed’s place, allowing it to swallow him whole.

“Greed saved my life,” Ling said. “A homunculus that embodied selfish desire saved a human life. He was no monster.”

Lan Fan didn’t respond. He knew that she had resented Greed for stealing the body of her lord and using it for his own capricious pleasures, possibly even manipulating Ling into compliance.

“When he lived inside me,” Ling continued, “I felt his loneliness. His soul was in so much torment. I could see his memories like they were my own, and I saw the many friends that had fought for him throughout each of his lives. Eventually, they were all killed on orders from the one he called Father.” Ling paused, looking out at the sprawling wasteland. “You see, Lan Fan, a part of Greed became a part of me, and I believe a part of me stayed with him, too.”

“I don’t know if I can ever understand your relationship with Greed,” Lan Fan admitted. “But if my lord valued him so greatly, then he will be honored with the proper rites in Xing.”

Ling nodded. “It’s the least he deserves.” He did not mention how much it pained him that, while they had brought Fu’s ashes with them to be scattered in the mountains of the old warrior's village, there had been nothing left of Greed.

In the shadows of the cave, Mei mumbled something incoherent in her sleep. “What will become of the Chang princess?” Lan Fan asked.

“I plan to give her a court title,” Ling said. “Ed told me that she demonstrated formidable skills in both alkahestry and combat, despite her young age.”

“You trust her, then?”

“In time, I hope to. An emperor has many enemies in the palace, so in turn he needs many allies. Us Yaos are competent fighters, but we don’t practice alkahestry. The Chang clan has ties to Jin. Mei’s loyalty would be valuable.”

“Wise judgment, my lord.” Lan Fan’s expression darkened. “The road ahead is long.”

“Yes, it is.” He knew that they were both thinking about the task awaiting them in Jing, the Xingese capital. If their plans failed, Ling’s chance at the throne would be lost and the philosopher’s stone would only bring ruin for Xing.

Deep in the desert, a coyote howled. Lan Fan lifted her head to gaze at the moon again, a faraway look in her eyes. “‘While I watch the moon go down, a crow craws through the frost,’” she cited. “‘And I hear, from beyond Jin, from the temple on Dragon’s Keep...”

“‘Ringing for me, here in my boat, the midnight bell,’” Ling finished. It was a poem that Fu had loved. An intense feeling of homesickness overcame him.

**~**

The sky was a deep, cloudless blue that morning, and the delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms permeated the air. Ling sat cross-legged on the railing of the bridge overlooking the lotus pond in the Imperial Garden. He had spent another sleepless night in the training grounds, and now a light breeze soothed his sore muscles through the thin fabric of his robe.

It had been a week since their return to Jing. Today, he would present the secret to immortality to his father, the Emperor Xia. If Ling had things his way, he would have secured his succession by now, but business in the palace moved slowly and his affair was far down the chain of issues requiring the Emperor’s attention. The sluggish pace of life here made him miss his freedom in Amestris.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Ling glanced in the direction of the voice. Strolling onto the bridge was his eldest half-brother, the Crown Prince Han Jin He. The 23-year-old prince bore a handsome, regal face with sharp angles, characteristic of the Han clan, and long, braided hair. His dark eyes were cold and unreadable. 

Ling slid down from the railing to stand before Jin He, bowing his head in respect. “Good morning, brother.”

“You should be careful when relaxing alone,” Jin He said. “Someone could push you into the water.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I learned how to swim,” Ling said. He knew that Lan Fan was also close by, hidden somewhere out of sight. “What brings you here so early?”

“Same as you, little brother. Enjoying the spring weather.” Jin He motioned at a stone path along the pond that led into a grove of cherry trees. “Shall we walk? I learned that you recently returned from a journey in the West. I’m very interested to hear what stories you have to tell.”

Ling followed Jin He down the bridge, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. His prolonged absence had been explained in court as a trip to oversee the renovation of a town in Yao lands; only a handful of people had known his true mission. As expected of the most powerful Xingese clan, the Hans had spies everywhere in the palace.

“So, what made you decide to leave our esteemed country?” Jin He asked. “Six months is a long time to be away.”

“You know I’ve always been difficult to tie down,” Ling said. “I crossed the desert to discover the secrets of alchemy.”

“Alchemy,” the Crown Prince repeated thoughtfully. “I read about it in a book once. It’s said to be similar to our Xingese alkahestry, but differs in practical application.”

“That’s right. Alchemy is weaponized in Amestris, the country I visited. Though, Amestris itself was formerly a military state.”

“Formerly?”

“While I was there, a division of the military staged a coup and overthrew the Fuhrer, what Amestrians call their country’s leader. They’re rebuilding a democracy at the moment.”

Jin He’s lips quirked into an amused smile. “Sounds like you had quite the adventure, Ling.” He came to a stop on the path, studying Ling’s face curiously. “There’s something different about you. Your chi, perhaps.”

Was there? Lan Fan had mentioned the same, and Ling had dismissed it as some lasting side effect of the philosopher’s stone. His chi should have returned to normal by now. “I suppose my body is still readjusting to being home again.”

Jin He didn’t drop his gaze. Out of all of Ling’s half-siblings, Jin He unsettled him the most. The Crown Prince had an uncanny talent for concealing his emotions and true intentions. “Is that so?” he said. “Granted, I’m no expert in reading chi.” 

They continued walking, and Jin He carried on, “It’s interesting that Western alchemy is weaponized. Did you know that Xingese alkahestry only uses a negligible fraction of the power of the Dragon’s Pulse?”

“I’m not surprised,” Ling said. “Alkahestry is used primarily for medicinal purposes in our country, after all. The Dragon’s Pulse exists to sustain life, so it seems natural that alkahestry developed in the same vein.”

“You’re correct, of course. But the Yuan clan employs industrial alkahestry to power their mines. Without such large amounts of energy, they wouldn’t be nearly as prosperous as they are today. Have you not wondered if alkahestry may be destined for greater purposes than curing headaches?”

Ling recalled his experiences in Amestris: meeting the Elric brothers, who’d paid a high price for attempting to play God; learning about the Ishvalan War of Extermination and the terrible role State Alchemists had served in it; and fighting the First Homunculus, whose hunger for power had nearly cost the lives of the entire Amestrian population. 

“A friend I made in the West told me one of their people’s fables,” Ling said. “It’s about a man who built himself wings out of feathers and wax, but flew too close to the sun. His wings melted and he plummeted to his death. The Dragon is generous, brother, but we must fear its flames. I witnessed with my own eyes how too much power can destroy a country.”

Jin He let out a short laugh. “You’re a careful thinker, Ling. Caution is wise, but if we are to build a strong country, we can’t be afraid to dream.”

They had reached the edge of the grove, which opened to another large pond filled with koi. Two servants were feeding the fish. A walkway over the water led to an ornate pavilion at the center of the pond. 

“Care to join me for breakfast?” Jin He offered. “We’ll have it served here and enjoy the fresh air a bit longer.”

“As long as there are mung bean cakes,” Ling said. _He’s trying to get me alone in the middle of that pond, where Lan Fan can’t stay close by_ , he thought, as Jin He sent the servants off to the palace kitchen. _The interrogation’s not over, then._

The two princes sat down across from each other at the stone table inside the pavilion. Shortly after, an assortment of cold dishes, colorful dumplings, and pastries was served with a pot of jasmine tea. 

“Now, I can’t help but ask,” Jin He began in a low voice, pouring the tea into two cups, “were you seeking the secret to immortality in the West?”

There was no point beating around the bush. “I was,” Ling replied. “If you’ve read about alchemy before, then I’m sure you have heard of the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Jin He’s black eyes glinted. “Yes, the famed elixir of legend.”

“Six months is a long time to be away, right?” Ling picked up a mung bean pastry and ate it whole, then said, “It took me a while, but I found it.”

The Crown Prince’s face was a blank slate. “Did you?”

From the pocket of his robe, Ling drew out a tiny glass vial filled with red liquid and held it up with his thumb and forefinger. “Here it is.”

For half a heartbeat, an almost feral look of hunger broke through Jin He’s careful composure. It was gone in an instant, replaced with a discreet smile. “So you chose to indulge our dear father’s fantasies. Immortality is a fairy tale, Ling. It belongs to the gods.”

“That it does,” Ling agreed. “Nonetheless, I plan to gift it to His Imperial Majesty today and win his favor.” He was testing Jin He, attempting to find out how much his half-brother was willing to believe and, hence, how much of a threat he considered Ling. 

A brief silence went by as they stared at each other. “I take back what I said about you,” Jin He spoke at last. “You’re madder than all of us.”

“You have no idea, brother,” Ling said, with a devilish smile.

They spent the rest of the meal discussing what Ling had missed concerning the country’s affairs. A revolt against the Qin clan, instigated by an alliance of minor clans in northern Xing, had been successfully quashed. Recent border skirmishes with the country of Yue in the south had worsened trade relations. Emperor Xia’s health continued to deteriorate, despite the efforts of the country’s best alkahestrists.

While their attendants cleared the table, Jin He said, “About what we discussed earlier. I trust you know what you’re doing, Ling.” His tone was icy but controlled, like a newly sharpened blade.

Ling rose to his feet and bowed to his half-brother. “I enjoyed our breakfast, Jin He. If you’ll excuse me now.”

As Ling made his way out of the Imperial Garden and back to his residence, he reflected on the conversation with Jin He. It was evident that the Crown Prince feared any source of great power falling into the hands of the Emperor, and for good reason. Their father was an erratic, morally corrupt man - since his reign began, Xing’s political stability had taken a dive as a result of the Emperor’s abusive lawmaking that sought to increase imperial power and wealth at the expense of the clans.

Only the shadow power of the Han clan held the Emperor in check. An age-old alliance between Han and Qin had enabled the two clans to gain nearly unrivaled control of the throne. In fact, Emperor Xia was the first ruler in many years not to belong to the Han or Qin clans, and this was because his father, the late Emperor Qin, had been particularly enamored with his mother, a Xia concubine.

As both a Han heir and the Crown Prince, Jin He had never seemed concerned with the issue of succession. His uncle Han Guo Yu was the Grand Chancellor, the highest-ranking official in the Imperial Council and the one who actually held the reins in the imperial government. Even in the unlikely case that a different heir succeeded Emperor Xia, the true seat of power would still fall to Han Jin He.

Ling’s return with a philosopher’s stone, however, posed a real threat. With the power of the stone, Emperor Xia would be unstoppable. But Ling had no intention of allowing such a disastrous outcome to pass. Nor would he become a puppet Emperor for the Hans.

Upon entering his quarters, Ling knew instantly from the disrupted flow of chi that someone else had made it there before him. So Jin He had believed him. The Crown Prince likely thought Ling had attempted to trick him with a fake in the garden and had ordered a search for the real deal.

“My lord.” Lan Fan stepped into the room. “Is the situation still under control?”

“Don’t worry, Lan Fan,” Ling assured her. “We expected Jin He to find out, anyway.”

Lan Fan still looked perturbed. “Someone was here.”

“And they would have found nothing.” Ling patted his robe with a knowing smile, to which Lan Fan’s eyes widened.

“This is too dangerous!” she exclaimed. “Now that the Crown Prince knows...”

“Trust me,” Ling said. “The closer it is to me, the safer.” 

Lan Fan hesitated, then reluctantly bowed her head. “Then we’ll move forward with the plan, my lord.”

Ling nodded. “If all goes well, a new era will begin tomorrow. A better one than this country has seen in a very long time.”

**~**

The Hall of the Imperial Court was by far the largest structure on palace grounds. A steep flight of stairs led up to an elevated walkway that extended to the main entrance. Ling ascended the steps in his formal court robes, flanked by the Emperor’s guards, the late afternoon sun at his back.

They came to a stop at the open entrance and the guards stepped inside before Ling, immediately falling to their knees in prostration. “Your Imperial Majesty, present is the Twelfth Prince, Yao Ling,” they announced.

Ling entered the court and followed suit, kneeling with his head against the floor. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said.

“Rise,” the Emperor’s voice echoed from across the hall.

Ling obeyed, looking ahead to see his father for the first time since his return from Amestris. The old Emperor appeared impossibly frail. Sagging yellow skin hung from his bony frame, and his gaunt cheeks were devoid of color. “Come closer, my son,” he ordered, and Ling noticed that his father’s voice still carried the strength and authority of a man accustomed to power.

Ling proceeded down the hall toward the Emperor and stopped a few feet before where his father sat hunched on the throne, surrounded by attendants. At this proximity, Ling observed that, unlike the rest of him, the Emperor’s eyes were bright and full of spirit. They were the eyes of someone who was not yet done with living.

“Is it true?” the Emperor demanded.

Again, Ling sunk to his knees and bowed his head. “It is true, Your Imperial Majesty. I have returned from the West with the elixir of life.” He moved one hand to the pocket of his robe, but was immediately stopped by a sword against his throat.

“Lift your hands,” one of the guards commanded, and Ling did as he was told. Another guard knelt and removed the glass vial from Ling’s pocket, then presented it to the Emperor, who accepted the vial and held it up to the light. Ling saw the profound desperation on his father’s face, the way the thin hand holding the vial shook with terrible need.

“Your Majesty,” Ling spoke. “I’m afraid Crown Prince Han caught wind of my return with the elixir. He ordered a search of my residence. Though I concealed it well, I can’t dismiss the possibility that he may have switched out the real prize.”

Ling allowed the implications to sink in. He knew that his father despised Jin He and the leash the Han clan kept on his power, and had always suspected his eldest son was waiting for the perfect opportunity to dispose of him. “That conniving Han brat,” the Emperor muttered. He glared at Ling with a sudden fury. “If you had suspicions, did you hope to poison me, then? Knock a few more days off the pathetic remainder of my life?”

“I wouldn’t dare, Your Majesty. If Your Majesty would permit it, I will test with my own body that the elixir is genuine. A single drop will dramatically increase the body’s rate of healing, but nothing further.”

Emperor Xia considered Ling’s offer, and it was apparent his own impatience won him over. “Make sure it’s a drop and no more,” he instructed the guards.

Ling rolled up the sleeve of his robe, exposing his forearm. One of the guards used his sword to draw a cut on Ling’s skin. Beads of blood formed along the incision. The Emperor handed the vial to an attendant, who removed the stopper and allowed the liquid inside to drip into Ling’s open wound. Instantly, the wound closed up and only drying blood covered the surface of his otherwise perfectly intact arm.

The guards and attendants looked startled, almost frightened, at the sight. Even the most powerful alkahestry would have left a scar. Emperor Xia’s gaze was fixed on Ling’s arm where the wound had been. His sunken eyes glittered as he wet his lips. “Well done, my son,” he said. “Very well done.”

“Have I won Your Imperial Majesty’s favor?” Ling asked carefully.

“You have,” his father said, and commanded the attendants, “Bring me the Imperial Seal.”

The men appeared nervous. “Your Majesty...” one of them began.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” the Emperor bellowed, prompting all of the attendants to fall to their knees with their heads bowed.

“At once, Your Majesty!” they chanted, and one attendant ran off to see to the task. In a short time, the man returned with a box wrapped in golden silk. He removed the silk cloth and opened the box before the Emperor. 

From the cushioned interior of the box, Emperor Xia picked up the Imperial Seal, an intricately carved jade dragon the size of a plum. Whomever the Emperor bestowed the seal to would be officially recognized as his successor. “12th Prince, Yao Ling,” he declared, holding out the seal to Ling, “with the gods and the Dragon as witness, I name you heir to the Empire of Xing.”

“I am humbled, Your Imperial Majesty,” Ling said, as he accepted the seal. He could feel the eyes of the attendants, most of them Han men, boring into him. 

_Now, the trouble begins_ , he thought.

**~**

Some nights, Ling did find sleep.

It was the desperation of his overworked mind that drove him under, yet even as he sunk he fought to return to shore. The waters of his unconscious had become sinister and foreign. When Ling had successfully persuaded Greed to let his body sleep, it had been a different kind of rest, like floating on the surface with Greed’s consciousness anchoring him in place. Eventually the souls of Xerxes had settled beneath him, as if they’d taken comfort in the quiet there. 

Without Greed to keep him afloat, this time Ling lost the battle against himself. As he plunged deeper, his dreams flickered in and out like the shadows of a fire - images of Central City burning, of the moonlit desert, of the town by the sea where his mother had grown up. He knew that something in the depths of his mind terrified him, that if he discovered it he would never resurface.

What was it?

He continued to sink, and his dreams changed. Wrath stood over him gripping a bloodied sword, black fury in his human eye. A basin of flames rose to meet him. Ed’s face, _his_ face, stared up in horror. In sympathy.

These were not his dreams, Ling realized. They were-

“My lord, wake up.”

Ling jolted back into consciousness, his eyes opening to see Lan Fan’s mask hovering over him. The visions he had passed through faded like steam on a cold day. The back of his neck was slick with sweat, and yet he shivered.

“Ah...I’m sorry,” Ling said, sitting up from his bed. “I didn’t mean to actually sleep.”

“No, I’m glad,” Lan Fan said gently, a smile in her voice. Her tone grew serious and she continued in a whisper, “The Hans have made their move, like we anticipated.”

“Xi Qing was there?”

“Yes, it went well. Xi Qing secured His Majesty before the Han soldiers showed up. They’re on their way to meet us at the safe location.” 

“Then we must hurry.” Ling threw off his covers and rose from the bed, already dressed in a black tunic and black pants. He pulled down his hood and donned a mask that Lan Fan handed to him, then picked up his dao from behind the bedframe. Lan Fan opened the window that faced the Imperial Garden and they slipped out of the bedroom.

The night was moonless, a sign of fortune from the gods. Ling and Lan Fan snuck past the guards in the garden and climbed over the outer wall, landing on the street outside the palace grounds. Besides a few bars with lingering patrons, the city was dark and hushed.

“Keep alert, my lord,” Lan Fan said, as they turned into a narrow side street. “Xi Qing reported that His Majesty sent assassins to your residence. It won’t be long before they find out that you’re gone.”

As if on cue, a shadowed figure sprung down from the rooftops and landed in front of them, flinging a kunai at Ling’s throat. Ling ducked and the blade caught the side of his hood, throwing it back. He drew his dao just in time to parry the assassin’s own sword. Lan Fan came down from the air and stabbed through the shoulder of the assassin with her automail blade. He cried out in pain, dropping his sword, and Ling took the opportunity to kick him in the head. The assassin crumpled to the ground, out cold.

“Noted,” Ling breathed, sheathing his dao. “Let’s keep moving.”

After some time they reached the outskirts of the capital, where most of the streets were residential. Ling and Lan Fan stopped at a noodle joint with its lights out. Ling walked up to the locked door and knocked in a coded pattern. Seconds later, he heard the correct responding pattern on the other side, and the door swung open. Wu Wen, the brother of Ling’s advisor Wu Fei, stood in the entryway.

“I’m glad you two are safe,” Wen said. “Follow me.”

Wen guided them to the back of the restaurant and into a storage room. A large pantry shelf had been dragged away from the wall, revealing a hollowed out space that contained a flight of stairs leading underground. Wen toggled a switch in the wall and gas lamps installed above the stairs flickered on.

“This restaurant was built on top of an escape tunnel connected to the imperial palace,” Wen explained. “It was dug five hundred years ago on the orders of Emperor Yuan Shi, who used it to escape from the Lotus Rebellions. Xi Qing and His Majesty are waiting at the bottom.”

“I am in your debt, Wen,” Ling said. “Don’t let me forget it.”

“Talk to me about debts when you’re Emperor,” Wen said with a smile. “No time to waste now.”

Ling and Lan Fan began the descent downward, the gas lamps lighting their way. At the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel continued for a short length before widening at an intersection. Wu Xi Qing stood in the middle, dressed as a palace attendant, with Emperor Xia in a wheelchair next to him. At Ling’s approach, Xi Qing sunk to one knee and bowed his head. “My lord,” he greeted Ling.

The Emperor’s eyes grew wide. “You,” he sputtered, gaping at Ling. “You should be dead. What are you doing here?”

“Your time as Emperor is over, Father,” Ling said.

“What is the meaning of this?” Emperor Xia demanded. “My attendant here is supposed to get me away from those traitorous Hans...”

“And we did get away,” Xi Qing said, rising to his feet. “Your Majesty will be safe with us.”

Emperor Xia swiveled his head to take in all of them - Ling, Lan Fan, Xi Qing. Realization dawned, and his face reddened in fury. “You set me up!” he shrieked. “I’ll have all of you killed!”

“It’s too late,” Ling said. “You don’t have long left anyway. Better to live out the rest of your days in peace.”

“I have the elixir of life,” his father insisted. “I drank it all, after giving you that worthless seal. Death can’t stop me from becoming eternal ruler of Xing.”

Ling reached into his tunic and took out the philosopher’s stone in its glass vial. “You mean this?”

The Emperor stared at the truth in Ling’s hand. “I watched your arm heal,” he said in disbelief. “That was no trick. How...?”

“It wasn’t a trick, no. I just used the real elixir a little earlier than what you saw.”

Ling could see that his father knew it was over. He was alone and dying, and the palace that had been his home for more than half a century now crawled with his enemies. The anger in Emperor Xia’s face dissipated, replaced with a hollow look of resignation.

“Ling!” 

Mei’s voice echoed out from the tunnel Ling and Lan Fan had traversed. The young princess bounded into the open space with Xiao Mei on her shoulder, trailed by an older woman. “I’m not too late, am I?” she asked worriedly.

“Actually, you’re right on time,” Ling said. “You’re sure you can handle this, little sister?”

“Of course!” Mei said indignantly. “The Changs are true to their word. I have Yin to help me, too.”

The woman accompanying Mei bowed to Ling. “It’s an honor to meet you, Prince Yao,” she said. “I am Princess Chang’s alkahestry teacher, Chang Yin.”

“I’m tremendously grateful for the Chang clan’s support,” Ling said, returning the bow. 

“Not at all,” Yin said. “My lady believes you can become the ruler our country needs, so we’re merely performing our civic duty.”

Ling shot a glance at Mei, grinning. “I didn’t know you thought that highly of me, Mei.”

“Well, you better not prove me wrong!” his half-sister retorted, her cheeks dusted pink.

Yin shifted her attention to Emperor Xia, who sat slumped in silence. “So this is the man who has caused our clan so much suffering,” she said. “If it weren’t for Prince Yao’s wishes, our clanspeople would have you thrown out on the streets. Instead, you’ll be taken back to our village and stay under my care.”

“Why don’t you just kill me now?” the Emperor asked sullenly. The question was directed at Ling. “I have no use left for you.”

Memories of the tortured souls that had haunted Ling for months flashed in his mind. “Because human life is precious,” Ling said. “Goodbye, Father.”

“You can leave him to us, Prince Yao,” Yin said. “May the Dragon’s strength be with you always.” She moved behind the Emperor and began pushing his chair toward a tunnel across the intersection, Mei by her side.

“What do we do now, my lord?” Lan Fan asked, after the Changs were gone.

“We go back and spread the news,” Ling said. “The Emperor has passed away.”

**~**

By noon of the following day, the entire capital knew of the tragic incident - Emperor Xia had succumbed to his illness. A large funeral procession began at the palace gate and made its way through the city, followed by the sounds of bells and drums. The procession continued outside the city and stopped at the base of a mountain, where the casket of the Emperor was then carried to a temple at the top for the cremation.

The late Emperor’s twelfth son, Prince Yao Ling, was crowned Emperor Yao of Xing that afternoon. He was a young Emperor, barely out of childhood, but far from the youngest. The residents of Jing wondered to themselves why the Imperial Seal was bestowed to a twelfth son and not the Crown Prince.

As the sun completed its descent, Ling walked from the Imperial Court to his new quarters, where his father had resided only the night before. When he’d been a prince, Lan Fan had been the only one to accompany him. The Emperor, however, required an entourage of six guards to watch over his travels. Somehow it made Ling feel less secure.

They reached the courtyard of the imperial residence and Ling dismissed the guards. Seconds after they left, Lan Fan emerged next to him. She knelt before him with her head bowed. “I’ve confirmed the perimeters are safe, Your Imperial Majesty,” she said.

Ling winced at the form of address coming from Lan Fan. “Don’t call me that again.”

She glanced up at him with visible confusion. “But...” she faltered.

“Even ‘My lord’ is much better, which I never thought I’d prefer.”

“Your Majesty-”

“That’s a command from the Emperor, Lan Fan.”

Lan Fan looked conflicted. “All right...my lord,” she relented. 

They proceeded into the courtyard and Ling said, “My attendants are on their way. Can you make sure they don’t disturb me until I ask for them?”

Lan Fan nodded, and Ling crossed the courtyard to the doors of his residence. He entered into a small but lavish sitting room, complete with an elevated chair for the Emperor to receive visitors. It was joined by an archway to the study, and another archway on the opposite side led somewhere out of sight. A door across from the entrance opened to the back of the building.

He walked into the study, where a writing desk stood on one side and two large cabinets covered the adjacent wall. After rummaging through the cabinets, Ling found what he was looking for: matches and golden joss paper, the money of spirits. He laid out the sheets of joss paper separately on the desk, then took a brush and dipped it into a jar of black ink.

“This is silly,” he muttered. As best as he could remember, Ling drew the Ouroboros symbol onto each sheet of paper. He picked them up in a pile when the ink had dried and returned to the sitting room, leaving through the back door.

The sky had completely darkened and the yard behind his residence was blanketed in shadow. Ling retrieved a watering pail from behind the outhouse and set it down in the middle of the yard. He struck a match, then dropped it into the pail.

 _Tell me you’re up there_ , Ling thought. He tossed a few sheets of the spirit money into the pail and the flames licked them up hungrily, growing in intensity. Smoke rose from the pail, drifting into the night.

“Hey, Greed,” Ling said out loud. He felt a bit self-conscious - the burning of spirit money was not a talking affair - but he pushed on. “I thought I’d treat you to something. I do owe you my life, after all.”

He fed more spirit money to the fire, then continued, “You know, I’m curious what our ancestors spend this on. They must be rolling in riches with the amount of burning we do. That means all the riches of Xing are yours to keep now. Funny, right?"

Ling paused, tilting his head back to follow the trail of smoke into the sky. The waning moon peeked out from behind a cloud.

“I also wanted to tell you that I became Emperor of Xing today, so you have to call me Your Majesty from now on. If you were here I would’ve had to teach you how to share, which sounds awful. I suppose it’s nice we both have our own worlds to rule instead.”

The skin on his back tingled suddenly, and the distinct feeling that someone was behind him overwhelmed his senses. Ling whirled around, but the yard was empty.

“Greed?” he whispered.

The fire was dying again. Ling tossed in the rest of the spirit money and watched the flames consume the paper in a blaze, then gradually reduce to embers. It faded out completely, and the yard grew dark once more.

He sunk to the ground and sighed. For once, he wanted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the poem that Lan Fan and Ling reference alludes to 'A Night-Mooring Near Maple Bridge' by the Tang poet Zhang Ji.
> 
> quick pronunciation guide: Jin He = "Jing-Huh", Xia = "Shee-ah", Qin = "Ching", Xi Qing = "She-Ching". but also you can pronounce them however you like lmao
> 
> thanks for reading and see you next time!


	3. Troubled Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha....bet you thought you'd seen the last of me...
> 
> governing xing comes with a lot of headaches.

“No...that won’t work, either.” Ling frowned. “There has be a middle ground.”

“Aren’t you the Emperor?” Greed pointed out. “Whatever you decide, tell them to deal with it.”

“I wish it were that simple. The Emperor’s power is meaningless without the support of the clans.” Ling dragged a hand down his face, groaning in frustration. “Why does everyone in this damned country have to hate each other so much?”

“Beats me, kid.”

“Well, do you have any ideas?”

Greed gave him an amused look. “You do realize I’m just a projection of your own thoughts, right?”

“It was worth a try.” Ling fell silent, reconsidering the factors at play. For the past year he had worked with Roy Mustang, now Fuhrer of Amestris, to establish free trade between Amestris and Xing. On Mustang’s side, the development of new policy and infrastructure to support the initiative had gone fairly smoothly, as Amestris was eager to get back on its feet following the coup against Bradley’s government. 

Ling, however, was facing a block. Where the desert ended, the western border of Xing constituted Li lands in the south and Qin lands in the north. The mountainous terrain along the border made building more than one trade route impractical, and whichever clan’s territory the route passed through would enjoy greater benefits from Amestrian trade. It didn’t help matters that the Li and Qin clans had feuded for centuries.

“Fei thinks Qin should win this one,” Ling said. “His reasoning is that Qin controls the Ministry of War and our national defense is critical right now, since relations have been strained with Yue and Bhayar. But I can’t let Qin believe they have this kind of power over state affairs.”

“Didn’t Fullmetal use to preach that line?” Greed said thoughtfully. “Something about equality?”

“The Law of Equivalent Exchange, you mean? ‘In order to obtain or create something, something of equal value must be lost or destroyed.’ What does alchemy have to do with anything?”

“Sounds logical to me. What should these guys have to give up for the trade route?” Greed paused, his red face twisting into a scowl. “Wait a minute. The real me thinks Equivalent Exchange is a load of horseshit.”

“No, you’re right,” Ling said, the gears in his mind whirling. “What’s equivalent in value to the trade route?”

“I say they better pay up for the Emperor’s favor.” The homunculus grinned. “Now _that_ sounds more like me. So are you going to wake up or does Lan Fan have to drag your ass out of bed again?”

Ling’s eyes flew open. “Taxes,” he said. Except there was nothing the clans of Xing hated more than lining the Emperor’s pockets.

A knock sounded on his bedroom door. “My lord?” came Lan Fan’s voice from the other side.

“Come in,” Ling called, sitting up from his bed.

The door opened and Lan Fan entered, bowing in greeting. “Did you sleep well, my lord?” she asked.

“More or less.” He reached for the gold string on his bedside stand and tied his hair back, then noticed that the sunlight filtering through the eastern window had climbed halfway up the opposite wall. “Shit. Lan Fan, what time is it?”

“Half past seven, my lord. I should have knocked sooner, but...” Lan Fan hesitated. “I could tell by your chi that you hadn’t gotten much sleep recently. Also...” Again, she trailed off.

Ling looked at her expectantly. “What is it?”

“You...talk in your sleep, my lord.” Lan Fan averted her gaze. “Loudly.”

“Oh.” How much had she heard? “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

From Lan Fan’s taut mouth, he could tell she was trying to hide her concern. “Just...please remember to take care of yourself, my lord.”

Ling offered her a reassuring smile. “There’s nothing to worry about, Lan Fan. Go take your break. I need to get ready before I show up late to breakfast again.”

“Yes, my lord. Xi Qing will be here shortly.” Lan Fan bowed and turned to leave, but stopped in her tracks. “You know that you can talk to me about anything,” she added with her back facing him.

“Of course I can,” Ling said.

He heard Lan Fan release a soft sigh before she walked out of the room. The air seemed to grow colder without her presence. In the three years since he’d assumed the throne, much had changed about his life, his relationships, and himself, but Lan Fan had remained steadfast in both her character and her unflinching devotion to him. She was like an ever-shining lighthouse, that Ling knew as long as he kept in sight, he would not stray from what he believed in.

He rose from the bed and began preparing for the day ahead. In half an hour he would be dining at Fei’s manor, one of his favorite places in the capital. Fei’s residence was surrounded by an extensive garden built purposely with many bridges, pavilions, and roofed walkways, which altogether doubled as a martial artist’s playground. Both the Yao and Wu clans were descended from some of the greatest Xingese warriors in history, and their ways of life had endured through the generations. Every Yao and Wu child, irrespective of class or gender, learned the same traditions of combat. In his prime, Fei himself had been a warrior-general who had defended the Xingese border against the mighty armies of Bhayar, their eastern neighbor. 

As Emperor, Ling didn’t get many chances to move around freely like he used to. But the fight was in his blood, so he looked forward to the times he visited Fei and could take a break from the stiff political life in the palace.

Xi Qing was waiting for him in the courtyard with an assembly of guards. Ling had appointed Xi Qing head of the Imperial Guard after the former commander’s retirement. The man was only five years Ling’s senior but an exceptional fighter. Like Lan Fan, Xi Qing had served Ling’s family for most of the latter’s life, though the age gap and Xi Qing’s reserved personality had made their relationship more distant.

“Is Your Majesty ready to leave?” Xi Qing asked. “The carriage is waiting outside.”

Ling nodded. “Send the carriage back. I’ll walk.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

They left the courtyard and Xi Qing passed the order to the carriage driver, who took off amidst the clip-clopping of horse hooves. Fei’s home was twenty minutes by foot from the palace. It was mid-June and the summer heat grew by the day, but mornings still clung to the coolness of the nights before.

“Did you bring the training swords?” Ling asked Xi Qing, as they approached the gates of Fei’s manor.

“Yes, per Your Majesty’s request,” the commander said.

“Good. It’s been a long time since we’ve sparred.”

Xi Qing appeared troubled. “Your Majesty, I’m not sure if that would be appropriate.” Putting the Emperor in harm’s way, no matter the circumstances, was considered high treason and punishable by death. The law also meant Ling hadn’t been able to train his skills with anyone competent for years.

“Only Fei will be there. Consider it a favor, Xi Qing. If I must live like a plant any longer I think I’ll wither in my sleep.”

“...If you insist, Your Majesty.” 

At the front steps of the residence, Fei’s sentinels bowed to Ling and opened the heavy double doors. Ling and Xi Qing proceeded into the front garden while the rest of the imperial guards waited outside. Their path was carpeted with cherry blossom petals, the last traces of spring.

A glassy lake surrounded the manor, which was joined to the rest of the garden by a number of walkways and bridges. Wu Fei made his way across the lake toward them. If Fu had been like a grandfather to Ling, then Fei was the father figure in Ling’s life. The old warrior had taught Ling how to fight, guided him through a treacherous childhood in the palace, and always been the first person Ling turned to when he lost his way. The gray at his temples and new lines around his mouth betrayed Fei’s years, yet he carried himself with the vigor of youth.

“I was beginning to get worried, Your Majesty,” Fei said, his eyes crinkling in mirth. “I thought I would have to eat all the mung bean cakes by myself again.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Ling said, but he grinned. “It’s good to be back, Fei.”

“I’m assuming you want to warm your blood before we sit down?”

“Naturally. I asked Xi Qing to help me practice.”

Fei lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s wise, young Emperor?”

“I may appear to spend my days as a glorified human ornament, but I _do_ still train. I plan to hold my own today. In the worst case, the swords I brought are blunted,” Ling patted Xi Qing on the shoulder, “so don’t go easy on me, brother.”

“Very well, then,” Fei said. “I expect not to be disappointed.”

Ling and Xi Qing followed Fei down another walkway over the lake to a large open space paved with stone tiles. A pavilion had been built on the edge of the water. Fei sat down inside the pavilion and one of his attendants emerged, a tea tray in his hands.

“Don’t go easy on him,” Fei said with a wink to Xi Qing, who cracked a rare smile.

“Hey, I already told him that,” Ling grumbled. He accepted the sword that Xi Qing passed to him, a light and flexible blade with dull edges. The two moved to opposite sides of the open area and assumed fighting stances, knees bent and weapons raised. Xi Qing’s hands were positioned in the Tiger’s form, a Wu combat style that emphasized the strength in one’s core. Ling on the other hand had adopted the Dragon’s stance, favoring speed and mobility.

Ling was the first to move. He ran at Xi Qing, swinging his sword across the other man’s chest. Xi Qing deflected the blow with his own sword and the loud clang of metal against metal resounded throughout the yard. The power of the impact surged from Xi Qing’s blade into Ling’s hand, its intensity almost forcing Ling to drop his weapon.

He’d never beaten Xi Qing in a fight before.

Again, Ling slashed at Xi Qing and again, Xi Qing parried. They repeated this dance another ten or so times; each time, Xi Qing stepped forward and Ling stepped back. The air around them thrummed with the music of clashing swords. Ling’s heart was at his throat and blood pounded in his ears as he fought to keep up with Xi Qing. For the first time since that fateful day in Amestris he felt like he could breathe again, felt the mind-numbing exhilaration of his most primal survival instincts roaring to life.

Ling’s foot reached the edge of the lake. He dodged a jab from Xi Qing and leapt onto the roof of the walkway they had passed through. Xi Qing followed him up and they continued to trade blows, Ling taking advantage of his greater agility on the slanted and uneven rooftop.

Finally, one of Xi Qing’s strikes arrived half a second too late. Ling ducked under Xi Qing’s arm and slammed the flat of his sword against his opponent’s exposed side. Xi Qing stumbled back, concluding the match.

The two men lowered their swords and returned to ground level where they had begun the fight. As they bowed to each other, Fei clapped with a pleased smile.

“You certainly haven’t lost your edge, Your Majesty,” the old warrior said. “That was well fought.”

“Indeed, it was,” Xi Qing agreed. “Your Majesty’s skills are truly formidable.”

Ling huffed. “Oh, please. One day I’ll defeat you even when you’re not holding back, Xi Qing.”

“I await that day, Your Majesty.” Ling thought he detected a rare note of playfulness in Xi Qing’s voice.

“Now that we’ve all had our fill, how about some breakfast?” Fei said, rising to his feet.

“I’m absolutely famished,” Ling declared.

“When are you not, Your Majesty?” Fei quipped, prompting a mock scowl from Ling.

Breakfast was served in Fei’s open-air tea room, which had a view of the cherry trees across the lake. Petals fluttered to the still surface of the water, producing gentle ripples. Fei’s kitchen had prepared a variety of Ling’s favorite foods: glass dumplings, fried taro puffs, golden custard buns, mung bean cakes.

As Fei poured out the tea, Xi Qing, who had remained standing, bowed to Ling. “I’ll return to my post at the gate now, Your Majesty. Please enjoy your breakfast.”

Ling also stood and removed a large basket of red bean buns from the table. “Take this for the men. Thanks for indulging me today, Xi Qing.”

“It was my pleasure,” the commander said.

After Xi Qing took his leave, Ling returned to his seat and said, “I’ve been thinking more about where to build the Amestrian trade route. I want to consult your opinion again, Fei.”

“Have you decided on the lucky clan, then?” Fei inquired.

“Not exactly. No matter which clan I choose, the border fights between Qin and Li would only worsen. But Greed reminded me-” 

Ling froze.

“I-I mean, I remembered something Ed liked to say. It gave me the idea that I can let the clans choose instead.”

“Oh? And how would they reach this accord?”

“Taxes. Tariffs, to be specific. Whoever gets access to the route will have to give up a cut of the trade profits.”

Fei pondered the idea as he sipped his tea. “That would indeed maintain the balance of clan power,” he said. “However, the party that gains from this arrangement would be neither Qin nor Li, but the Imperial body. I’m sure Your Highness is aware of this.”

“Of course,” Ling said. “Is there a solution that doesn’t involve any party walking away with a bigger share?”

“Consider a different perspective. Instead of penalizing the winner, why not reward the loser?”

The reasoning clicked. “The need to compete for the route would be replaced by a choice between two favorable outcomes.”

“Precisely. Though, I must caution that both Qin and Li will demand a generous compensation, and the fair value of such a compensation is difficult to measure. I’m still convinced that the route should be granted to Qin. Li may complain loudly, but even they must accept that Qin is the strongest clan after Han. Sometimes the best option is painful but clean.”

Ling sighed. “You know that I didn’t aspire to this position to make easy decisions. I want to put an end to these meaningless clan divisions, not encourage them. Aren’t we all Xingese? How can we move forward as a country if we keep fighting amongst ourselves?”

“Your Majesty speaks with reason,” his mentor said. “Unfortunately, tradition is both difficult and dangerous to break. It may sound counterintuitive, but clan identity is also what holds Xing together. Without the clans keeping each other in check, we would cease existing as a united whole.” Fei shook his head and continued, “These are words for a different meal. Let’s eat while the food is warm.”

“Gladly,” Ling said, already reaching for a mung bean cake. He wolfed down the delicate pastry before moving on to the plate of taro puffs. As usual, they were delightfully crispy.

“Speaking of Amestris,” Fei said, “I have a letter from the West for you.”

“Really?” Ling couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice. “Is it from Ed?”

“Not Ed.” Fei reached into his robe and pulled out a sealed envelope. “A special courier sent personally by Fuhrer Mustang delivered this. It’s from Alphonse Elric.”

“Al! I wonder what he has to tell me?”

Ling took the envelope from Fei and unsealed it, removing the folded letter inside. He began reading its contents. Ed had for the most part adjusted to life without alchemy, though he still complained about having to be a lot more careful not to break things. He and Winry had gotten married in early spring - Ling had received the invitation and desperately wished he could make the time to attend, but could only send a wedding gift made up of books on alkahestry and Xingese engineering. And Al...

“Al is coming to Xing!” Ling exclaimed. “He’s planning to stay at least a year to study alkahestry with Mei. She must be ecstatic.”

“I look forward to meeting this Western friend of yours,” Fei said. “I’ve traveled far in my life, but never across the desert. Is Alphonse blond-haired and blue-eyed like our books describe?”

“Actually, his eyes are gold,” Ling said. “Al and Ed take after their father, who was Xerxian. In fact,” he laughed, “their father was _the_ Xerxian. The Western Sage.”

“The same Western Sage who brought alkahestry to Xing centuries ago? Impossible.”

“Al can give you the full story himself. I’ll arrange for him to live in the palace while he’s here.”

Instead of responding, Fei watched Ling with a strange expression. He was smiling, but his eyes were sad.

“What’s wrong?” Ling asked.

“Nothing. I just haven’t seen Your Majesty this happy in a long time.” A shadow seemed to fall across Fei’s battle-weathered face. “A storm is brewing, Ling. The years ahead will not be easy.”

“When have they ever been?” Ling responded wryly. But his breakfast sat a little heavier in his stomach. Fei was right - Ling could sense something titanic looming over the country, its presence like the charge in the air before a thunderstorm. 

He was the most powerful person in all of Xing, yet suddenly he’d never felt smaller. For the thousandth time, Ling wished he wasn’t alone.

~

Lan Fan was waiting outside the gates of Ling’s residence when he returned. “How was breakfast, my lord?” she asked.

“Fei never disappoints. Here, I snuck you some leftover dumplings.” Ling offered her a cloth-tied bamboo box. “It’s your favorite kind, so I suspect Fei had them made on purpose.”

She took the box with a smile. “I wish I was there.” Lan Fan’s father had died when she had barely learned to talk, so Fei had been just as much a surrogate father for her as he was for Ling.

“I wish you were there, too. You would’ve seen me beat Xi Qing in a fight.”

Lan Fan’s eyebrows rose. “My lord defeated...Xi Qing?”

“You could look less surprised, Lan Fan. I’ll admit he wasn’t using his full ability, but I still won.”

“Of course, my lord.” She was smiling again.

“Oh!” Ling struck a fist against his palm, “I almost forgot to mention - Al is coming to Xing!”

“Actually, someone else already broke the news to me,” Lan Fan said. “She’s been waiting for you, in fact.”

Ling grinned. “Mei is back, huh? I’ve missed teasing that kid.”

“I can hear you, Your Majesty!” came Mei’s bright voice from somewhere above them. She dropped down from the courtyard wall she’d been perched on, landing in front of Ling. The young princess bowed briskly before telling Lan Fan in an annoyed tone, “I wanted to surprise him, you know!”

“I know,” Lan Fan said with a blank face. Three years had nurtured Lan Fan and Mei’s friendship but done little to change their rivalry.

“Welcome back, little sister,” Ling said. “Have to admit, I’m going to miss the peace and quiet around here.” 

Mei and Xiao Mei made identical faces at him. “Thanks for the warm welcome, Ling. Let’s go inside, I have a _lot_ to catch you up on.”

After Ling had assumed the throne, he’d appointed Mei as his personal advisor, a decision that many of the other imperial advisors had challenged. But in the years since, Mei had proven her worth, serving as Ling’s eyes and ears around Xing while he ruled from the capital. Mei’s natural resourcefulness enabled her to travel undetected all over the country, reporting back anything that required Ling’s attention. She had spent the past two weeks in the Gao province of Nanchu to investigate a mysterious illness that had spread there.

Inside Ling’s sitting room, Mei flopped down on a silk seat cushion and sighed contentedly. “Traveling is fun, but all I want to do now is sleep in a big, fluffy bed,” she said. “You should appreciate yours more, Ling. I had to spend three nights in an ox cart on the way back.”

Ling joined her at the tea table and began pouring out the tea that his attendants had prepared. “I’ll never sleep in a bed again if it means no more council meetings,” Ling said.

“You really hate those meetings, huh?”

“Not as much as the ministers all hate me. And each other.”

_Long as they hate each other more, right?_

Ling cracked a smile.

Mei cast him a puzzled look before her expression sobered. “It isn’t just a disease, Ling. It’s the crops, too. Nothing will grow in Nanchu.”

His smile faded. “What do you mean, nothing will grow?”

“I mean exactly that. Seeds won’t germinate and plants are dying. The Dragon’s Pulse feels weaker there, especially where the disease first spread.” Mei scrunched her brows together. “Something is seriously wrong in this country.”

Her words echoed what Ling had felt about Amestris when he’d first arrived there. The parallel chilled his blood, and he could tell that Mei was also remembering the evil that had nearly destroyed Amestris.

This time was different - worse. This was _their_ home.

“You don’t think...” Ling began.

Mei shook her head. “It can’t be another philosopher’s stone. Our alkehestrists don’t have the knowledge to create one, otherwise Father wouldn’t have bothered sending us west. The Dragon’s Pulse itself doesn’t feel corrupted, either.”

“Then what could it be?” 

“I have some theories, but I can’t say for sure. Maybe Al can help me figure it out.” As if a switch had been flipped, Mei’s demeanor changed abruptly. She cupped her cheeks with her hands, squealing in glee. “I still can’t believe Alphonse is traveling all this way for _me!”_

“Centuries of alkahestric knowledge just happen to also be here, of course,” Ling said.

“Oh, you don’t get it. It’s a classic courtship. For me to teach Al, we’ll have to spend lots of time together. I can picture it already - I’ll be guiding his hand as he draws a purification circle, when he’ll stop me by placing his other hand over mine. Our eyes will meet like we’re seeing each other for the first time. The candlelight will dance in his golden eyes as, slowly, he starts to lean closer...” Mei giggled happily.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Ling said doubtfully. “How can you draw anything by candlelight?”

“You’re so unromantic, Your Majesty.”

“I’m practical.”

“Haven’t you ever been dreamy about someone?” Mei asked. “Apart from the crush you had on Lan Fan when you were six, that is.”

 _Ha_ , _knew it._

Ling groaned. “She told you that? I thought you two were rivals.”

“We are. I won a bet.”

“What else do you have on me?”

Mei smiled cheekily. “I’m not playing all my cards at once.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, before sighing. “To answer your question, no. I’ve never had the time to.”

“You turn eighteen this year, right? Aren’t the consorts for the Imperial Harem chosen when the Emperor comes of age?”

_Did she just say you get your own harem? I’m listening._

“I’m putting an end to the harem. It’s done nothing except encourage discord among clans.”

_What? No! Harem good!_

“I can’t disagree with you there,” Mei said. “But you’ll still need heirs eventually. Plus, how will you get the council to accept such a big reform? The harem system has existed for thousands of years.”

_The girl makes excellent points._

“Trust me, these are the questions that keep me up at night.” Ling finished his tea in one gulp, then continued, “It’s like that Western proverb: ‘Xerxes wasn’t built in a day.’ I’ll just have to chip away at it until the whole foundation collapses. But in the meantime, there are the border conflicts to worry about. And the Amestrian trade route. And whatever disaster is impending in Nanchu. On top of all the regular clan feuds.” He buried his head in his arms.

Mei offered him a sympathetic look. “Now I’m glad I didn’t bring back the philosopher’s stone.”

“That makes me feel a lot better.”

“Hey.” She touched his arm gently. “I have your back, Ling. If those ministers are giving you trouble, I can kick all of their wrinkly old butts.”

_I like this one._

“Me, too,” Ling muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He sat up and smiled at her gratefully. “Thanks, Mei. You should get some rest. We’ll talk more at dinner.”

“I’ll try to wake up before then,” Mei said as she rose to her feet. “Oh, and one more thing - Lan Fan told me you’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

“It’s not serious,” Ling said. “I’ve been a little stressed, that’s all.” He frowned. “Does Lan Fan tell you everything now?”

“Just the important things. I think the inbalance in your chi might be what’s causing it.”

“But my chi has always been unstable.” Since he left Amestris, his chi had never returned to normal - Mei had described it to be like an erratic pulse instead of a steady flow.

“The imbalance feels a lot stronger right now. Come over to my place later and I’ll stabilize it temporarily with alkahestry. It should help you sleep.”

“You’re the best, little sister,” Ling said. Mei winked and left the room.

Now alone, Ling waited out the silence. Five minutes passed. Ten. Then longer.

_So...does His Imperial Majesty have places to be?_

The phantom voice of Greed sounded just like it did in his dreams, only this time he was wide awake. It echoed in his mind so clearly and powerfully that for half a breath Ling almost believed it was real. He wanted to believe it so badly. Three years later and this piece of him was still incomplete, still fifteen years young, like the untouchable eye of a hurricane that had long blown away everything that didn’t matter. Why wouldn’t his past just let him go?

Maybe Lan Fan was right to be concerned, after all.

~

A thin trickle of sweat ran down Ling’s back as he fought to sit still in his court robes. The heat from midday had remained trapped within the Imperial Court, and it pressed relentlessly against each of the overdressed occupants.

From the throne, Ling had a view of all six ministers belonging to the Imperial Council, three on either side of the hall. To the left sat the Minister of War, a Qin general who’d seen three decades on the battlefield; the Minister of Revenue, a Yuan business mogul; and the Minister of Rites, a Tang man of obscure origins who had served the position since before Ling was born. On the right sat the Minister of Personnel, his own uncle Yao Hui Ming; the Minister of Justice, a Li official; and finally the Grand Chancellor Han Guo Yu. The officials sat staring at their laps, avoiding eye contact with the Emperor until addressed as per court etiquette.

“Let’s commence the meeting,” Ling said. “Minister Yuan, you may speak.”

The minister rose. “Your Majesty,” Yuan began, “one year ago, the education tax was imposed on the eight major clans in the interest of improving the quality of Xingese education. However, these clans have yet to see the collected funds redirected to local facilities.”

“The education tax serves to improve the quality of _Xingese_ education,” Ling said. “That purpose encompasses all fifty clans. The eight largest clans have sufficient means to maintain high literacy rates among their people, but that isn’t the case for many minor clans. The funds have been spent on expanding educational opportunities _where needed_ in the country.”

“Understood, Your Majesty. Might I suggest leaving the matter of fund allocation to tax-paying clans? Surely they are in the best position to discern the needs of their liege clans.”

“I believe the liege clans are in the best position to discern their own needs,” Ling said coldly. _No chance I’m letting Yuan swindle the clans they’re supposed to protect._ “Is that all before we move on?”

Yuan’s jaw tightened. “Yes, Your Majesty,” the minister said stiffly, before returning to his seat.

Minister Qin spoke next. The general was a woman of sharp words that she used much in the same way that she wielded weapons. Qin had never attempted to conceal her opinion of Ling as a weak-willed Emperor, though when Ling was a prince she did offer him some respect for his descendence from a clan of warriors.

“Your Majesty, our eastern guard reports that Bhayar has increased the number of their troops along the border,” Qin said. “This is the second time they have done so in the past two months. If we continue to sit on our hands it won’t be long before they outnumber us.”

“Minister Tang, how are the trade talks with Bhayar proceeding?” Ling asked.

“I’m afraid the Bhayari emperor is still not satisfied with our terms, Your Majesty,” Tang responded. “He contests that the Yantai territory belongs to Bhayar and wants to reclaim it as part of the trade agreement.”

Ling had expected it wasn’t going to be easy to reach any kind of peaceful resolution with Bhayar, Xing’s sworn enemy for a millennium. “As much as it insults our history to give any land to Bhayar, it’s true that my father annexed Yantai in a period of peace,” he said. “The Bhayaris who remained in Yantai have struggled to keep their jobs and homes under the Yuan government and many of them are still cut off from their families in Bhayar. It may be a demand worth considering.”

“Your Majesty, have you forgotten the history lessons every Xingese child learns by the age of ten?” Minister Qin exclaimed, her voice losing its tenuous control. “How the Shao and Meng clans nearly went extinct after Bhayar ravaged their lands for 300 years? How the Bhayaris made a mockery of an entire dynasty of Xingese emperors?”

“Of course I remember,” Ling said. “But the Lotus Rebellions took place more than 500 years ago, at the same time that a dynasty of peaceful rule began in Bhayar. Since then, Xing has made no effort to reconcile relations with Bhayar. Instead, we’ve continued to wage pointless border wars that have done nothing except distract us from domestic problems.”

“Your Majesty actually thinks that Bhayar, a country born of barbaric tribes, understands peace?” Qin scoffed. “The so-called peaceful rule you speak of has been built on the backs of Xingese soldiers, many of whom were and are Yao clansmen. I’m sure Wu Fei has told you his own stories. I would hesitate to call these wars ‘pointless’ if I spent my days safely behind palace walls.”

Next to Ling, Xi Qing shifted uncomfortably. The commander was evidently bothered by the flippant manner in which Qin spoke to the Emperor.

Ling kept his composure. “I meant no disrespect to the soldiers who have fought valiantly to defend Xing. My point is that the world is modernizing. Battles these days are won with money and diplomacy, not swords. Xing has many neighbors and we can choose to surround ourselves with allies or enemies.”

“Your Majesty-“ Qin persisted, but fell silent when Grand Chancellor Han held up a hand. That was a level of deference Ling would never command from the Qin general.

“Your Majesty is wise,” said Han Guo Yu. “What we would gain from trade relations with Bhayar outweighs a few sacrifices. In any case, Yantai has been a headache for the Yuan government and offers us no real political or economic advantage.”

Minister Qin seemed ready to protest the reasoning, but instead nodded grudgingly. “I trust your judgement, Grand Chancellor,” she conceded.

In a rare moment, Ling felt grateful for Han Guo Yu’s sway over the council. “Then it’s decided. We will relinquish Yantai, but agree to no further terms. Minister Qin, what’s the situation at the Yue border?”

“Not good,” Qin said. “While our envoy was on his way, the Yue military sunk a Tang cargo ship. Are we giving up Nanjie too, or will we defend our territory this time?”

Nanjie River formed the border between Xing and the southern country of Yue. Historically Xing had controlled Nanjie, but ever since border skirmishes with Bhayar had grown in frequency, Yue had jumped on the opportunity to challenge Xingese sovereignty over the river.

“I’ll leave the best course of action to your judgment,” Ling said. “Minister Yuan, see to it that all Yue imports are banned from entering Xing.”

Qin looked pleased with Ling’s response. “Yue may think that Bhayar keeps us vulnerable, but they’ll learn that the opposite is true.”

The meeting continued with a number of housekeeping matters, until only one issue remained on the table. 

“I’ve made a decision regarding the western trade route,” Ling announced. “The route will cross northern Xijie, where the mountain pass is easiest for pack animals to navigate. Since this means Qin will control customs, the Li government will receive 5 percent of import duties for a year following the completion of the route, subject to extension thereafter.”

"We’ve already settled that matter, Your Majesty,” Minister Qin said. “The Grand Chancellor mediated a negotiation between the Qin and Li heads of foreign affairs, where it was decided that the route would pass through Yun City.”

Han Guo Yu nodded. “Yun City already has connections to the West through its jade trade, and several major Li companies are also established there that will benefit from the new influx of business. Both clans have asked me to organize the construction plan. Your Majesty need not concern yourself any longer with this affair.”

 _But the trade route was_ my _idea_ , some childish part of Ling wanted to whine. That would only cause Minister Qin to think even less of the ignorant boy she considered him. What frustrated him further was that the Grand Chancellor’s reasoning made much more sense than Ling’s own proposal. Why hadn’t _he_ thought of Yun City?

As usual, he would have to sacrifice his imperial dignity for the sake of greater interests. “Very well, Grand Chancellor. Unless there’s anything else, we can conclude this meeting.”

_About time. Turns out life as Emperor of Xing is a real snoozefest. Maybe checking out of your head was the right move._

Ling winced internally. _I know you’re not actually there, but try not to be so insensitive. I still pay respects to your spirit every year._

_Your loss, kid. I don’t even have a spirit._

The ministers of the Imperial Council stood and bowed to Ling. After Ling had dismissed everyone in the hall so that only he and Xi Qing remained, the commander turned to him. “If I may be so bold, why did Your Imperial Majesty omit the news Princess Chang brought from Nanchu?” Xi Qing asked.

“I’m going to send my own people to investigate first,” Ling replied. “I have the feeling there’s a lot more to this story than a simple disease.”

 _A storm is brewing,_ Fei’s words echoed in his mind. What was the old man not telling him? The thought of Fei, who had never attempted to sugar-coat the cruel realities of Ling’s world, keeping secrets from him made Ling feel sick.

He needed to see Lan Fan. More importantly, he needed to train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out and i hope you enjoyed it as well! thanks for reading!


	4. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my responsibilities:  
> me: writes fullmetal alchemist brotherhood fanfiction in 2021

Ling stared up at the looming face of his old friend in disbelief. It looked so _real_.

 _The voice I could handle,_ he thought. _But_ this _? This is too much. I’m actually going crazy, aren’t I?_

Imaginary Greed’s white eyes squinted at him. _What are you on about, punk? I_ am _real. I am Greed the Avaricious. I desire everything the world has to offer: money, women, power, sex, status, and I demand—_

 _The finer things in life, yeah, yeah._ He needed to snap out of it. His mother and Lan Fan were still trapped in Jing while he wasted precious time.

_How did you—never mind. You’re gonna need to learn some manners, kid._

_Get out of my head._

_Not an option, sorry. I’m the new tenant around here and it’s time for you to hand over the keys._

Before tonight, the inside of Ling’s head had been silent for weeks. Not only had imaginary Greed returned, for some reason this version of Greed had memory loss. It was likely a side effect of the philosopher’s stone coursing through his body. Either way, there were more pressing matters at hand. Ling focused his energy on the chi concentrated at his core, then used the strength there to lurch back into the physical world.

 _What the hell?_ imaginary Greed’s voice echoed in his mind. _Why can’t I take control? Just who the fuck are you?_

_I’m Ling Yao, the reigning Emperor of Xing. And you are not real. Get out of my head._

The river that flowed southward from Jing passed through the Gao town of Anshu, where he could find a change of clothes and hopefully a way back to the capital. Ling rose to his feet and began walking along the riverbank, his senses kept alert for any signs of human activity.

_Kid, even if I tried I couldn’t leave. ...Did I hear you say ‘Emperor?’_

Anshu was a small agricultural town full of rice farmers and pig breeders. Like the other towns in Gao province, it fell under the jurisdiction of the Yuan government. The imperial palace kitchens often received deliveries of grain and pork from Anshu, its closest neighbor.

_So I take it we’re in Xing? How did dear Dad end up planting me in the head of some Xingese brat?_

_Just shut up, please. I’m trying to think._

_Your thinking is boring. If you’re really the Emperor here, why do you need to sneak anywhere?_

_It’s a long story. For now I have to consider everyone an enemy._

_Ah. Who’d you piss off?_

_The Hans, probably. And...others._ Ling tried not to think about Fei.

_Who’s Fei?_

_If you stay quiet until we get to town, I’ll explain everything. Not that I should have to. Why do you suddenly have amnesia, anyway?_

_I was born five minutes ago. Can’t have amnesia if I don’t have memories._

Just like the iteration of Greed, the _real_ Greed, from three years ago. The one whose past Ling had clawed out of the homunculus’s soul as they stood over the dead body of Bido, at the cost of so much anguish.

But that Greed was long gone. He had watched with his own eyes as the homunculus dissolved to dust that the wind had carried away. Not even his soul was left, otherwise Ling wouldn’t have had to haunt himself so pathetically.

Imaginary Greed had apparently agreed to Ling’s terms, and the rest of the walk to Anshu was silent except for the sound of gurgling water. Panic crawled back into his heart _—_ what incentive did the instigators of the coup have to keep his mother alive? Even if they were using her to produce a new Yao heir, having lost her title as the Empress Dowager, she would once again be vulnerable to the ruthless plottings of the inner court. No doubt the other noble consorts would view her as an exceptional threat, now that Ling had proven a Yao prince could ascend the throne.

And Lan Fan...Lan Fan was smart. Much smarter than him. She was a survivor, and he had to believe she’d made it out of Jing safely.

As the town drew nearer, Ling began to hear the sounds of chatter. It was just as he’d feared—beyond the woods that bordered Anshu, Yuan soldiers were gathered along both sides of the river. So the Yuans were also involved. How much gold had Han Guo Yu promised the Yuan government? Or had their hatred for Ling alone provided enough fuel?

Getting past the soldiers without being spotted was going to be tough. From the surrounding flow of chi, Ling could tell there were more soldiers stationed in the woods, ready to cut down any of Ling’s supporters fleeing from the capital.

 _You need a distraction._ Imaginary Greed sounded different. More contemplative.

_How?_

_It’s the forest. Start a fire or something._

Ling tore off a patch of fabric from his shirt and laid it in the grass, then bit into his palm, hard enough to draw blood.

_Hey—ow! Fucking hell, warn me next time you’re gonna do something like that._

He knelt, thinking. Mei had taught him some simple transmutations over the years, things like healing small wounds and repairing broken porcelain. When they were crossing the desert on their way back to Xing and the nights had grown cold, she’d also shown him how to start a fire with alkahestry. He concentrated intently on that memory now.

At the time, the pattern of the transmutation circle had reminded him of a lotus flower in full bloom. Using the blood from his palm, Ling traced out the pattern as best as he could remember onto the piece of fabric. He placed his other hand at the center of the circle and closed his eyes, searching the ground for a disruption of chi to tap into the Dragon’s Pulse. An experienced alkahestrist like Mei needed less than a second to find such an access point, but Ling took much longer.

The Greed in his head yawned. _Any day now._

_Be quiet. I’ve almost got it._

There it was—a slight stutter in the rapid current surging through the earth. Ling used his own chi to draw out the energy of the Dragon’s Pulse from the disruption, and the fabric beneath his hand began to heat up. What resulted was barely a smoulder, but it was enough. He blew on the sparks until a small flame burst to life. 

_Not bad, kid._

_Thanks._

Ling picked up the burning fabric and tossed it into a thicket of dry shrubbery away from the river. The instant the fire came into contact with the bushes, it began to spread rapidly, until the air before him was filled with smoke.

As he waded through the river to the other side, the soldiers’ chatter soon broke into shouting. Ling concealed himself behind a tree and watched as the soldiers all rushed to the fire, using their hats in lieu of pails to pour water from the river onto the now unstoppable flames. A draft carried the smoke over the river, and he took the opportunity to enter the soldier’s camp, where he untied one of the waiting horses and rode into outskirts of town.

This part of Anshu consisted mainly of large paddy fields and the homes of rice farmers. The dirt roads that ran between the fields offered little cover, but thankfully most of the local farmers had ended the day’s work and returned inside.

_Ling._

It was jarring, hearing Greed address him by name. _Yes?_

_That name sounds...funny. You ever been to Amestris?_

_Of course. Where else would we have met?_

_So you did know one of the past Greeds. What happened to him?_

_He died._

_No shit. I mean how did he die? It ain’t easy to off one of us._

_He died killing the homunculus called Father._ And protecting Ling.

_The old man is...dead?_

_He’s been dead for three years now. Almost four. So are the rest of the homunculi._

_You’re messing with me. I wouldn’t be here if that were true._

_You aren’t here. I’ve been talking to myself._

Imaginary Greed fell silent. When Ling began to think the voice in his head wasn’t going to speak again, he heard, _Nope, still can’t take over. I’ll catch you off guard eventually._

_Hmm, good luck with that._

_Y’know, I want to believe you about Pops and my siblings being dead. We were one crappy family._

_You never liked them—we had that in common._

_How did they all go?_

_Do you really not remember?_

_I’m not the Greed you knew, kid. Thought that much was obvious._

Ling stopped at a house with a clothesline strung across the backyard. The family inside was turned away from the window, so he pulled a half-dry tunic and a pair of work pants off the line and changed into them behind the chicken coop. There was a straw hat propped on the yard fence, and he took that, too. He would have to count on most citizens outside Jing having never seen the Emperor’s face.

_You still haven’t explained why we’re doing all this stealth bullshit in your own house._

_Well, my most trusted advisor tried to kill me. Then the Hans and Qins, the two most powerful clans in Xing, staged a coup against my government. So I’m supposed to be dead right now, and if they find out I’m not they’ll make sure I stay dead. Does that clear things up?_

_Not really. You have a philosopher’s stone. You can make sure_ they _stay dead._

_Just because I’m stronger now doesn’t mean I’m about to fight entire armies. I have too many people to protect to afford reckless behavior. Besides, I’m not trying to kill them. I’m trying to find out why they want to kill me._

_How noble of you._

_Don’t be mistaken, I’ll still have their heads for treason once I get the answers I need._

_Ha, you’re assuming I won’t be at the wheel by then. Though if you ask nicely, I can take care of it on your behalf._

_How generous of you._

The Greed in his head laughed. _If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s generous. You sure you met me before?_

_You’d be surprised, Greed._

As he ventured deeper into Anshu, the paddy fields gave way to clusters of residences and small shops. Yuan soldiers patrolled the streets, some of them ordering the locals to return to their homes. The townspeople kept their heads lowered and quickened their paces whenever a soldier was near.

Ling wondered what they thought of the Emperor’s assassination. As ruler of all of Xing, he was forced to tower above the nation and relied on his ministers to understand the country’s needs, each of them a power-hungry politician who could whisper anything they wanted in his ear. He governed institutions, not people. What right did he have to judge the lives of ordinary Xingese, whose experiences he was completely blind to? In reality, he was little more than a stranger to these people. Why should they care which pampered, disconnected noble’s bottom warmed the throne?

The town entrance on the main road to Jing was also guarded by soldiers. A long line of couriers, horse-drawn carts, and government workers waited restlessly as the soldiers checked each traveler one at a time. Many were turned down, and some of the government workers were arrested for further questioning.

Ling guided his horse to the front of the line. One of the soldiers motioned for him to stop. “Get in line and wait for your turn,” he ordered.

“I have urgent business in the capital,” Ling said.

“Everyone and their mother has urgent business right now. Didn’t you hear the news? The Emperor was assassinated. Jing is under martial law.”

“Do you take me for a fool? Of course I’m aware of the situation. Minister Yuan won’t be pleased to hear his retainer was held up by a foot soldier.”

The soldier looked him up and down in scorn. “A member of the Imperial Council isn’t going to miss some backcountry hick claiming to be his retainer. Get back in line before I lose my patience.”

Ling’s clothes were unfortunately not helping his case. He sighed and took off his hat. “All right, how about we swap hair clips?”

“Excuse me?”

He pulled the clip out from his hair and showed it to the soldier, who opened his mouth to speak again, but promptly closed it when his eyes fell on Ling’s extended hand. The accessory was gilded with gold, and at its center was a disk of exquisite jade framed by intricate gold carvings.

In Ling’s head, Greed whistled.

“Wait here,” the soldier said. He walked over to the other soldiers and Ling watched as the man explained the situation. They all nodded eagerly, and the soldier returned with a pleased expression. 

“You may leave, sir,” he told Ling. The soldier undid the clip in his own hair and they completed the exchange. “Even if I let you through, the capital gates are almost impossible to get past right now. Whoever you’re reporting to, they better be important.”

_That was a pretty trinket. Hurt a little to watch you give it up._

_It was worthless to me. I don’t want to attract attention, anyway._

On horseback up the main road, Jing was only a half hour away from Anshu. Ling rode as fast as he could, the soldier’s parting words still echoing in his mind. How _was_ he getting into the capital? No one there would fall for simple bribery, and there was also a real chance he’d be recognized.

_I forgot to mention something back in those woods._

_Mention what?_

_When you bit your hand for the transmutation, I noticed it didn’t heal immediately._

Ling glanced down at his palm. Not even a scratch was left where he’d sunk his teeth in. _It looks fine now._

_You shouldn’t have been able to use any blood. The wound would’ve closed up before you tried._

Imaginary Greed did have a point. _I nearly died from poison before I ingested the stone. My body is probably still recovering._

_Seemed weird to me. But hey, it’s your body. Soon to be mine, of course._

_Right._

_So who’s this Lan Fan? Sounds like a special girl._

_She’s my retainer. Her family has served mine for generations._

_C’mon, I want the real answer._

_That is the real answer._

_I’m waiting._

Ling sighed. _We grew up together. She’s the strongest person I know. I can’t imagine life without her by my side. Next to my mother, she’s the most important person to me. Happy now?_

_Well, damn. Didn’t know you could be so corny._

_You asked for it._

_Tell me more about her._

_Lan Fan loves poetry, just like her grandfather did. She’s fond of cats—she probably has names for every stray cat in Jing. But she loves fighting the most. She’s brave, kind, and loyal to a fault. In Amestris, she lost her arm while saving me. Now it’s my turn to save her. I...I have to. I owe her that much._

_Relax, kid. This chick sounds like a badass. You better introduce me._

_Actually, she kind of hates you. For stealing my body and all._

_Nah, I’m a real charmer. The Greed you knew probably sucked._

_A little at the start, but he turned out all right._

In the back of his mind, Ling knew he had to stop responding to the Greed-like voice and encouraging it to stay. But the truth was, he had relied on these conversations throughout the past months to cope with a crippling loneliness that came with the Emperor’s job. And he had never felt more alone or in need of a friend than right now, even if it meant furthering his descent into madness.

The imposing walls of Jing came into view on the horizon. A fire had been lit in each of the city’s eight watchtowers, signaling that martial law was effective. As Ling drew closer, a noise that sounded like the wind roaring in a storm grew louder in his ears. He soon realized it was the sound of a large number of people shouting at once. Sure enough, a huge, unruly crowd was gathered at the city gates that the imperial guards were struggling to contain. Black columns of smoke rose from within the capital.

Ling came to a stop at the fringes of the mob. “What’s going on?” he asked the man next to him, who appeared as though he’d been traveling for days. The woman beside him carried a baby in her arms that was crying hysterically.

“I heard the Emperor was assassinated by his uncle, the Minister of Personnel,” the man said. “He tried to take control of the palace, but the Imperial Guard stopped him. The Qin army locked the city down to restrain his supporters. To think such a conspiracy was taking place in the Emperor’s own family...”

So that was how they were spinning it. Ling wasn’t exactly his uncle’s favorite person, but the man would never betray him. Then again, he’d never thought Fei could betray him, either. “Are they letting anyone into the capital right now?”

“Only nobility and high-ranking officials.” The man shook his head, sighing despondently. “My family and I traveled all the way from Qiu province to start a new life in Jing. We risked everything to come here, but the gods don’t favor us after all.”

Entering directly through the gates would be impossible, then. The guards were more than likely to be familiar with the identities of Xingese nobles and government officials, and certainly would recognize the supposedly dead Emperor himself. But the walls of Jing were a hundred feet high and concealed deadly traps waiting for any invaders who dared to challenge them.

_Greed, any ideas on how to get into the city?_

_How am I supposed to know if you don’t? I’m barely a tourist here._

_Think creatively. Please._

_The only way I see us getting in is if you dug a hole. You’re on your own for this one, kid._

It struck him like lightning: the escape tunnel that Wu Wen had shown him years ago. _Greed. You’re a genius._

_I’m flattered, but you realize that was a joke, right?_

There had to be an entrance to the tunnel right outside the city walls. If Emperor Yuan Shi had used it to escape, it would be located close to a road, but still hidden from sight. Ling rode toward the capital’s eastern gates, where the road stretched into Yuan territory in eastern Xing. The imperial guards stationed there were busy fending off a similarly agitated crowd.

He dismounted off the side of the road, away from the crowd and amidst a thick growth of weeds and ferns. Ling walked around the area, scanning the ground for irregularities.

_Like I said, kid. I was joking._

Ling’s steps slowed. The vegetation beneath his feet was noticeably thinner than in the surrounding area. He knelt and began pulling out the weeds, revealing a moss-covered metal handle protruding from the earth. He lifted the handle toward himself, muscles straining with effort, and the heavy wooden hatch it was joined to swung open in a shower of dirt. Beneath the hatch, stone steps descended into darkness.

_Here’s our hole to Jing._

_Why couldn’t you have brought me back when being the Emperor was still fun?_

Ling picked up a fallen branch and transmuted another fire to create a torch, before following the steps downward. The air underground was stale, and even with the light from the torch it was difficult to make out the way ahead. He felt in his heart what he felt navigating this tunnel—paranoid, uncertain, and lost, yet left with nowhere to go but forward into the treacherous future. 

When Ling had last traveled through this place, on the night before his coronation, he’d been uncertain, too, but also hopeful and surrounded by people he trusted. He had truly believed that he could change Xing for the better. Instead, just like his father, he’d been used as a puppet by the Hans and the Imperial Council. The Bhayari emperor probably thought him a fool for trying to negotiate peace after his predecessors had all failed to do so. The people of Xing called him the Son of Heaven, but in reality he was nothing but a wingless bird plunging into an inverted sky.

_Holy shit, kid. I thought we were rescuing your girl, not going to therapy._

_Stop reading my thoughts. It’s intrusive._

_I’m literally inside your head. What do you expect me to do? Anyway, if you want my two cents, I don’t see why you have to beat yourself up. You’re the Emperor, kid. Meaning everyone in this country is your bitch. Anything you want, you can have. I’m pretty jealous, to tell you the truth._

_It’s not that simple, Greed. The people I have to work with to rule Xing don’t take me seriously._

_Unless ‘Emperor’ means something different here, you don’t work_ with _anyone. They work for you. Besides, why does it matter what they think of you? If you told them to strip naked and crawl like babies for the rest of their lives, they’d have to do it._

Ling suppressed a laugh at the thought of all the ministers and Han Guo Yu scrambling around the palace with their buttcheeks jiggling. _You’re not entirely wrong, I suppose. But you forget that they just overthrew me. I won’t be Emperor anymore by tomorrow morning._

_Then overthrow them. What happened to having their heads for treason?_

_You say it like it’s easy. These people belong to the most influential clans in Xing and control vast armies. I only came to power because of the philosopher’s stone._

_You’re wrong._

_What do you mean, I’m wrong?_

_I don’t know the full story, but even I know that the price of a philosopher’s stone is paid in blood. You came to power instead of these guys because you were willing to pay that price._

_That doesn’t sound like a good thing._

_My point, kid, is that you’re missing a crucial fact. If they’re already on top, they have everything to lose. But you, my friend, have everything to gain._

_I could still fail._

_If you’re worried about failure, then you don’t want this power badly enough. You did it once, right? You can do it again._

_You’re only saying that because_ you _want to be Emperor and you’re in my body._

_Heh, you might be right._

A warm, faint light emerged at the end of the tunnel. Ling realized he had arrived at the intersection where he’d met up with Xi Qing and usurped his father. The light was emanating from the gas lamps fixed along the walls. But why were they lit, unless someone else had recently used this tunnel before him?

As Ling crossed through the intersection, he thought of Xi Qing. It was here that Xi Qing had pledged fealty to Ling as the new Emperor and sworn to serve as Ling’s sword for the rest of his days. Yet his last memory of Xi Qing was the commander standing over the imperial guards whose throats he had slashed, weapon bloodied, watching impassively as Ling choked to death on the poisoned tea.

At last, he came to the steps leading up to Wu Wen’s restaurant. His heart was pounding furiously. He knew that whatever he found beyond this door would either save or break him.

The place was in disarray: shattered window glass littered the floor, tables were overturned, and the smell of blood lingered in the air. Two soldiers wearing Qin insignias lay facedown in dark red pools. Wen’s lifeless body sat slumped against the wall, and grasped in his left hand was what Ling recognized to be Lan Fan’s mask.

It felt like his worst nightmare come to life. The edges of his vision blackened as he picked up the mask with trembling fingers. Was she...had she...

_Hey, now. I don’t see a girl here._

That was true, but what if they had captured her?

_Why would they capture her if they think you’re dead?_

That was a fair point, too. If Lan Fan had really escaped, where would she have gone?

Ling turned the mask over. Drawn in blood on the back of the mask was a crude symbol of a fish. It had clearly been done in a hurry, as the marks were simple and smeared at the ends, but he understood instantly what message she’d wanted to leave behind.

The year Ling turned ten, he had spent that summer in Yulin, a Yao coastal city and his mother’s hometown. He’d spent the days running around the ports and fish markets with Lan Fan and hunting for crabs on the beach. Sometimes, his uncle would let him borrow a fishing boat that he’d take out to sea, always on his own because Lan Fan got seasick easily. 

It had been a beautiful summer full of clear skies, but during one of the afternoons that Ling had spent at sea, a ferocious storm had swept into Yulin. When the storm had passed, a search party had been sent out to look for him, but a thick fog over the sea had forced the party to return hours later with no sign of the young prince. The people in town had believed that he’d drowned in the storm. But Lan Fan had waited stubbornly on the beach with a lamp through the night, and no one had been able to convince her that he was gone. 

When Ling had made it back to shore early the next morning, he’d found her curled around the lamp and fast asleep. He’d also brought back a fish as tall as himself, which his family had cooked for dinner that night. It remained the best fish he’d ever eaten.

Lan Fan was alive. And she believed he was still alive. Of course she would never give up on him.

_Aw, how cute. I’d shed a tear if I could._

Not only was she alive, she must have departed for Yulin to warn Ling’s family of the coup. The name Yulin meant “fish forest,” a detail her diligent self wouldn’t have missed.

Ling’s attention was suddenly snatched away from the mask. He dove to the ground as several arrows whipped past where his head had just been. Two Qin soldiers charged into the restaurant and swung their swords at him. Ling kicked the sword out of one soldier’s hand and grabbed the ankle of the other soldier, causing him to topple over.

_Whoa! You didn’t tell me you were a ninja!_

He jumped to his feet right as another arrow shot through the window. So there were three of them—in the heat of the moment he had miscalculated. An inch before it reached his throat, he knew it was too late to dodge.

But in place of the sound of flesh breaking, he heard a _clunk_ , and the arrow bounced off harmlessly. Ling touched his throat where the arrow had hit and felt something hard and smooth. Almost like...

And then he was falling again, all the way down into himself. His body was moving, but he was not moving it. He watched himself slice sharp gray claws through the two soldiers lunging at him, before leaping over the window and snapping the neck of the third soldier.

He flexed his shoulder muscles and cracked the bones in his neck. “Ah,” Ling heard himself say, in a voice that was not his own, “feels good to be back.”

_Told ya I’d catch you off guard, Your Highness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my updates are sporadic but i'll try my best to write consistently :>


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